The Fiddler's Gun Read online

  “What many of you have heard is truth. Our Brother, Reverend Whitefield, walks with God this morning. I pray you will grant me leave to speak in his stead this Sunday bright.”

  Nods of assent crossed the room and courtyard and the reverend commenced his dedication.

  “Many years ago, as he was led to the stake, John Huss proclaimed, ‘Today you burn a goose, but in a hundred years will come a swan whose voice you will not be able to still.’ I say that today a swan is born. Today, out of dirt and mud, out of brick and tar, there rises a beacon that shines in the wilderness. Let no man still the voice that here is given cry, and let no man throw down that which the Lord builds up. A mighty fortress is my God, which no man on earth may assail. Amen.”

  Peter rose and walked out of the building, leaving Fin to wonder where he’d gone while Mr. Hickory went to the left of the dais and stood beside an object cloaked under a sheet.

  “By labor of fire and forge, we find here that which is given to surmount the steeple and proclaim our purpose to far eyes lifted.” He motioned to Mr. Hickory, who withdrew the sheet and revealed a large white swan atop a glimmering pike. “Behold the swan that rises.”

  The congregation clapped and amened.

  “Good people, we shall remove ourselves to the courtyard to view the final crowning.”

  The crowd bustled out the doors, and Fin was swept along with them, wondering where in the world Peter had got to. She looked up and saw a rope hung from a series of pulleys and beams stretching out to the steeple from the scaffold. Danny and Hans carried out the swan and tied the rope fast around it; then Lachlan and Thom hauled on the rope and the swan rose above the crowd. As it ascended, the crowd’s eyes followed it in silence. Then Fin spotted Peter atop the steeple. Peter leaned out, took hold of the pike, and maneuvered it into the socket atop the steeple. The assembly slid into place with a victorious clang, and the crowd erupted in applause.

  As Peter made his way back down, a wagon trundled into the courtyard, and Sister Carmaline hurried over in a fury to shoo away the culprit of such inconsideration. She launched into a sound berating, but the wagon driver patiently ignored her and handed over a letter. Carmaline tore it open and read it then hurried over to Reverend Wesley and thrust the letter at him.

  Peter made it back to the ground and joined Fin with a questioning look. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know” she shrugged.

  Reverend Wesley read the letter under his breath, his eyes widening as he did so. Then he called the crowd to attention.

  “My friends, it pleases me to read you this letter sent from Mr. Jonathan Hickleby of New Hampshire.” He began reading in a loud voice. “Dear Sirs, it is with my sincerest condolences that I greet you. You will, no doubt, have learned by now through quicker means of our brother, Reverend Whitefield’s, recent translation into glory. It was in my house he spent his final hours and, until the very end, he was determined to honor his engagement with you for the dedication of your new church building. When at length he spied God’s plans were otherwise, he bid me see this final cargo delivered thence. May this bell crown your tower and call all Christian men to worship with its toll.” The wagon driver flung the cover from his cargo and revealed a newly founded bell gleaming bright in the morning sun.

  “It seems Reverend Whitefield has the final word of the morning,” smiled Reverend Wesley, and then, too low for most to hear, almost a whisper, “Well done, old friend.”

  Sister Hilde beamed like Fin had never imagined was possible while Sister Carmaline sat down heavily on a bench and fanned her face lest she swoon.

  Peter ran to the wagon to join Mr. Hickory and the rest of the building crew. They placed lifting timbers below the bell and called for help to lift her. Men from the crowd ran to their aid, and together they carried the bell to the scaffold and tied ropes fast about it. Ten men it took to hoist her up. The crowd watched with glee as it found its mark and men aloft swung her into place inside the tower. The sounds of rapping hammers echoed in the tower as the bell was secured in its housing, then Danny Shoeman jumped up, grabbed the tolling rope, and pulled down with all his might. The sharp peal rang clear, and people below shouted and cheered. Again and again Danny pulled the rope. No slow, mournful toll for those in death, but a victory chime for life renewed.

  CHAPTER IX

  On a Tuesday in early October, Peter left the orphanage. The anxious leaves had turned in spite of the summer hanging on past its due, and in the morning heat, Peter packed for the move to the Hickory household. To Fin it seemed a thousand miles away. She met his departure in a fitful and somber mood and nothing Peter said could alter it.

  “I’ll only be down the road. You can nearly see it from here.”

  Fin didn’t answer. They stood outside the orphan house as the sisters waited at the front gate to send him off.

  “We’ve got plans, Fin. It won’t be long.”

  “Why should we wait? I want to come with you.”

  “It’s too soon. Mr. Hickory barely has room even for me. We have to wait.”

  Fin wasn’t consoled.

  Peter turned away and gathered the last of his belongings from the doorstep. When he turned again to face her with his pack slung across his shoulders and a bundle of tools and clothing in his hands, he was different. He was no longer just an orphan, no longer her constant companion. He was a man, with a place in the world, with a skill, with a home waiting for him, even if it was only five minutes’ walk through the gates. And he was leaving her behind, inside the walls, alone.

  Fin reached out and touched his arm. She wanted to embrace him and kiss him, but the sisters were watching. Though she would happily risk their scolding, she withheld herself to spare Peter. “You’re my way out, Peter, my only road. You know that?”

  Peter moved closer and gave her his smile as Sister Carmaline called out for him to come.

  “I know it, Fin, and I’ll be waiting. Down at the end of the road.”

  Sister Carmaline called out again and he went. At the gate, Hilde and Carmaline hugged him and kissed his cheeks and waved him off while Fin slunk into the shadow of the orphan house and watched in silence as he walked down the road and dwindled out of sight.

  In Peter’s absence Fin felt almost completely alone, and only Bartimaeus helped to fill the empty spaces in her days. He cheered her with his good humor and they took any opportunity to slip away from the orphanage and convene on the riverbank to play the fiddle. Fin had quickly surpassed him in technical skill, but she never tired of hearing the complexity of his playing or the emotion he funneled into it. They learned from each other and often played deep into the night, sneaking back into the orphanage by moonlight to escape Hilde’s attentions.

  Peter stopped by for dinner often. The sisters were always happy to have him, and his visits were a relief to Fin. After dinner they snuck out the gates to walk by the river until the sun went down.

  “How long, Peter? It’s easy for you, you don’t have to deal with Hilde, and all those kids. I’m going crazy!”

  “I don’t know how long, not yet. I’ve only just moved in. I can’t ask them to take in you too, not yet I can’t. Be patient, Fin. Trust me.”

  The argument ended as they always did, with Fin stomping off mad. Often she claimed there was some girl in town she didn’t know about, and Peter would be left dumbfounded.

  To Fin’s daily dismay, Sister Hilde had started a new crusade to turn her into a proper woman. Hilde waggled her nose about wearing the proper clothes and speaking in turn and sitting up straight and holding her hands in her lap, but Fin was old enough now that threats and lectures bounced right off her. Hilde’s failure to encourage any noticeable transformation put her in a constant state of aggravation and was a prime source of amusement for Fin.

  Late that November, Bartimaeus informed her that she’d be coming with him on his supply run to Savannah, and Fin was ecstatic. Sister Hilde was quick to point out, though, that Fin would be going e
xactly nowhere unless she was dressed properly. Fin could do nothing but agree and smolder.

  The next morning, Fin arrived at the dining hall in her only dress with a smile on her face. Bartimaeus raised one suspicious eyebrow at her quiet submission to Hilde’s demands, but he didn’t say anything. They loaded the bolts of silk they were to sell in town and mounted the wagon just as Sister Hilde arrived to inspect Fin.

  “Good heavens, child, button that up. All the way to the top!” Fin obeyed without a word. “Now go inside and manage that hair. You’re not going anywhere with that tangled mess. If you can’t manage it, then tie it back and hide it with a bonnet for goodness’ sake.” Fin started to protest but bit her tongue and ran off to do as she was told. After a few minutes, Fin came back with a bonnet on, trying her best to look like she belonged in it.

  “Better. A fine woman you may make one day, Miss Button, if you’d just put your mind to it. Now, you two be careful and I’ll expect you back by sundown.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Bartimaeus. “You’ll find bacon out for breakfast and a stew in the pot ready to warm up for lunch and dinner. Don’t burn my galley down.” Hilde frowned and waved them off. Bartimaeus snapped the reins and the wagon lurched down the road into the rising sun.

  When they had passed the last house in town and gone around a bend in the road, Fin jumped up and cursed Bartimaeus’s ears numb while she unbuttoned her dress in disgust. Underneath it she was wearing her usual shirt and plain britches. She threw the dress in the back of the wagon and plopped back down with a sigh of relief. Bartimaeus chuckled.

  “You forgot the bonnet,” he said quietly. Fin gave a little scream as she ripped it off her head and threw it behind her. She and Bartimaeus broke into laughter.

  Fin had never been further than walking distance from New Ebenezer and Savannah was a new world for her. Over a hill from the west they came rolling, and the city spread out below like a picnic set upon a green blanket. The smells of salt and fish from the harbor met them on the wind, and they descended the hill into the city proper where cobbled streets added the clack and rumble of hooves and wagon wheels to the clamor of the city’s voices. Fin’s wide eyes couldn’t drink enough of all the color and commotion. Men in coats and black hats walked arm in arm with ladies under parasol shades. Shop windows filled with guns, porcelain dolls, fine clothes, china dishes, and ornate furniture lined the streets. Here and there, a drunken sailor sang and swaggered into an alley, and everywhere wagons wheeled cargo from far and wide to fill the holds of waiting ships bound for business across the Atlantic or south to the Caribbean.

  It wasn’t the city that stopped Fin’s breath, though. It was the wide blue sea beyond. It rolled in blue-green swells to the horizon and was dotted everywhere with ships of all kinds coming and going, all turning the wheels of commerce.

  The smell of fish and filth grew stronger the closer they got to the harbor. It nearly overwhelmed Fin, but Bartimaeus was breathing deep of it and smiling. He pulled the wagon up in front of a storehouse and jumped to the ground.

  “Now, see here, missy. I got to go in and take care of business. Got to see what price this here silk will bring. Don’t rightly know how long I might be, so you go on and have a look around but don’t stray too far, and you come runnin’ back directly if there’s any trouble.”

  Fin nodded wildly and jumped out of the wagon. She took in the scene like a hungry man eats, sampling a bit of one thing then moving quickly to taste another. It was all new and full of wonder, the sounds of the harbor, strange people, clothes, smells, even colors. Most of the buildings on the street were storehouses, many with wagons in front loading goods in and out. She saw men unloading sacks of dry goods, bolts of fine cloth, piles of tobacco, and crates of exotic shipments from across the sea.

  She struck out southward hoping to find her way to the seaside to glimpse it up close. At the first crossroads, however, a commotion up the side street drew her attention. There was a small crowd gathered and shouting in front of one of the buildings. She ran up to the next block to get a better look. As she drew closer, the shouts became clearer.

  “No justice. No peace,” the men were chanting with their fists in the air. The target of the protest was the large building in front of them. It was an official-looking building with white pillars spread across its face and high, arched windows girding its walls. Two British soldiers clad in red and white, with muskets at the order, guarded the double door. Farther down the street, a merchant shingle hung above an open door. Tondee’s Tavern, it read. Men were pouring out of the building and joining the crowd, raising the volume of its chant to a roar.

  “No justice. No peace!” The crowd’s fervor grew in waves. The guards began to look nervous, and one of them turned and entered the building. He returned moments later with a British lieutenant and resumed his post. The lieutenant addressed the crowd.

  “Stand down! Order will be kept here.” The mob ignored him. If anything, his demand seemed to intensify the crowd’s clamor.

  “NO justice, NO peace!”

  Fin didn’t want to worry Bartimaeus, so she turned and ran back down the street to find the wagon.

  “Bartimaeus, there’s a protest! People are shouting!” she said as she ran up, out of breath.

  Bartimaeus was unloading the last of the silk bolts from the wagon. “Protest, eh? What you say we find some news and see what the upset is all about. We’re done here. Got a good price, and the shipper say he’ll bring him a boat up river next month so’s we can load it from our back door. How’s that for good dealin’s?” He winked at her and swung himself up into the wagon seat. Fin climbed in beside him. He snapped the reins and they headed off up the street. When he turned the corner, the mob was blocking the road. The crowd had grown to several hundred people, all shouting in unison.

  “NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE!”

  “You stay here, missy. I’ll see what I can learn, don’t you go nowhere, see here?” He gave her a stern look and hopped out of the wagon. She watched him drift around the crowd, appraising people until he settled on a target and approached him. They exchanged a few words, and Bartimaeus came back looking worried.

  “Man says the Royal Gov’ner got some politician locked up in the jail house for talkin’ independence. Folks ain’t none too happy about it.”

  A fancily dressed man in a white wig—an official of some sort, Bartimaeus surmised—came out and tried to calm the assemblage, but whatever words he said were lost in the din of the crowd and he retreated back into the building. Four more British soldiers came out and posted themselves, flanking the door.

  Then there was a loud crash followed by the high, bright sound of shattering glass. Men were throwing stones at the building, breaking the windows.

  “We best get home,” said Bartimaeus.

  The soldiers at the door shifted nervously in their boots as the crowd became more and more restless. Men began to hurl stones at the soldiers and the chant intensified.

  The lieutenant came out onto the steps and shouted at the crowd again. The crowd answered with more anger. He turned his head and gave an order to the soldiers. They raised their muskets. They backed against the wall and took aim. The roar and zeal of the crowd didn’t slacken at all. They pumped their fists in the air and more stones flew.

  “NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE!” they cried.

  A flash of fire and smoke exploded out of a musket. In the crowd, the chant turned into screaming. Whoom, whoom! Two more musket shots. The front of the building was obscured by smoke.

  “Hya!” cried Bartimaeus and the wagon jumped to life as people scattered. “Hya! Hya!” he snapped the reins over and over, urging the horses on as people fled. Whoom, came the sound of another shot. Where the crowd had been, there were three men lying on the ground, wounded and crying out for help, while through the clearing smoke she saw soldiers reloading as another fired his ball into the fleeing crowd. Whoom!

  Then they were too far down the street to see. As they rumb
led out of town, Fin heard only screams and the echoing of discharged muskets.

  Bartimaeus drove the horses without mercy. Fin feared he might run them to death. His eyes were wide and wild, filled with rage, as if at any moment he might turn the wagon around and charge back to town to exact some desperate vengeance. He saw in those short murderous moments flashes of the man he’d been and visions of what he might be driven to again, and so he drove the horses mad to escape his own fearful intent. Fin saw it all in his eyes, the turning back, the fear of what he might do, the war he fought to master himself, to keep standin’ up. She reached out her hand to comfort his unrest, half-afraid he might snap at it like a rabid dog, but when she touched him, gently on the shoulder, she felt the fear subside, and she saw again the man she knew and loved.

  Bartimaeus pulled the horses up and stopped in the road. He breathed deeply with his head down. Fin put her arms around him.

  “Damn them,” he whispered.

  They arrived back in Ebenezer just before nightfall. The courtyard was empty and voices from the dining hall told them dinner was afoot. They unhitched the horses and Fin stabled them as Bartimaeus tended to the wagon.

  “I’ll tell them,” said Bartimaeus as they entered the dining hall to join the others. The room hushed. Sister Hilde knew with a look that something was wrong.

  “Bartimaeus, what is it?” she said.

  “Protest in Savannah, crowd gathered outside the jailhouse and the English fired into them.” Sister Hilde covered her mouth in horror and gasps filled the room. “At least three shot down that I saw. They were still shootin’ when we cleared out of town.”

  “Are you all right?” said Sister Carmaline. “Phinea, are you hurt?”